


Baby Bird

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [19]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Everyone Loves Peter Parker, F/M, Gen, May Parker is the best, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker goes to college, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-19 11:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: Peter stares at the envelope, sitting in the middle of his work table, in his little corner, in Mr. Stark’s lab.  He’d been checking the mail as soon as he gets home from school and pulled it out before May got home, which won’t be until after nine o’clock.  And there it was, finally, the envelope adorned with Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gray and maroon across the white paper.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry to the Iron Dad Big Bang. It's spread out more through the Up Came the Sun series (think of my timeline as being just as precise as the MCU's) and afterwards. 
> 
> My artist, Ulla, has sent in here first illustration (at the end of the first chapter), and there will be one more, so stay tuned! As soon as I get it I’ll edit this to include it. Follow her [here](https://ulzyuu.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
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> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter stares at the envelope, sitting in the middle of his work table, in his little corner, in Mr. Stark’s lab. He’d been checking the mail as soon as he gets home from school and pulled it out before May got home, which won’t be until after nine o’clock. And there it was, finally, the envelope adorned with Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gray and maroon across the white paper.

 

_“It’s over, kid. You didn’t do it. You never could.”_

_“No, Mr. Stark, I’ll do better, I promise--”_

_“I’m gonna need the suit back.”_

_“No, I--”_

_“And the watch.”_

_“Mr. Stark, I promise I’ll do better, I’ll apply again next year, I won’t patrol, I’ll study as much as I can, I’ll--”_

_“I went to college when I was fifteen. And you can’t do it when you’re eighteen? After everything I’ve given you? My money? My_ time _?”_

_“Mr. Stark, I swear, I’ll do better, I promise!”_

_“It’s over, kid. Go home.”_

_“No, I don’t want him in my home. He can’t come back here.”_

_“May?!”_

_“I knew I shouldn’t have put up with this super-hero nonsense...I should have put a stop to it the minute I found it.”_

_“May?”_

_“There shouldn’t have been anything to stop, May. That was my mistake, I should have never given him the suit. He can’t handle it. He can’t handle_ any _of it.”_

“Peter, wake up. Your heart rate has exceeded one-hundred and forty beats per minute while in a resting position. As such my protocols require me to inform Mr. Stark.”

Peter wakes with a start, and practically falls out of the large bed in his room at the tower. It hurts to breathe, the air whistling in and out of his chest, the crushing weight of the dream pressing on all four limbs. His dreams have never been simple, or calm, but this one is relatively new. Since he sent in the application.

“Peter?” The door to his room opens, and Pepper pokes her head in.

“Pepper?” Of course it’s Pepper; Mr. Stark is in Seoul, his first real business trip after everyone came back, and the wedding, and since he’d told Peter that Pepper was expecting a baby he demanded Peter help look after.

“FRIDAY woke me up, are you alright?” She looks disheveled and is rubbing her belly. After _everything_ , Mr. Stark reprogramed FRIDAY to alert Pepper if he’s not immediately reachable and Peter is in mild distress. If she doesn’t answer, it gets alerted up the chain. When he’s in Queens, Karen is programmed to alert both him and May.

Every base covered. Apparently, even for something as simple as a nightmare.

“Ye-yeah. I think,” Peter is hopelessly twisted in his sheets, the comforter kicked to the floor. His t-shirt feels wet, and is sticking to his back.

“Did you have a nightmare, sweetheart?” Pepper softly pads across the room, her footsteps barely audible even to Peter’s ears in the lush carpet.

“I think so…” Peter slumps back into his pillow, giving up on untangling his legs. Pepper takes over, carefully bending over to pull and untwist the high-count sheets.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She tactfully doesn’t look at his face while she tugs on the material. “Tony told me they were better…”

“They were,” Peter groans, throwing his forearm over his head while he tries to catch his breath and lets Pepper manhandle his legs. “I--”

Suddenly FRIDAY’s speakers crackle through the room, followed by a long beep and a frantic, “Peter?!”

“There you are,” Pepper sighs, smoothing the sheets over Peter’s legs and sitting on the end of the bed. He peeks out from under his arm to watch as she addresses the ceiling. “FRIDAY called me.”

“Ugh, I was in a sauna with a bunch of old men. Disturbing and inconvenient. I packed up as quickly as I could. Where’s Peter?”

“He’s right here,” Pepper squeezes Peter’s foot through the sheet. “He had a nightmare.”

Peter can feel the adrenaline start to seep out of his body as Pepper talks, slowing being replaced with the familiar feeling of shame. He knows what Mr. Stark--and Pepper, and May--would say, that everyone has nightmares and anxieties, and that it’s their job to take care of him when they happen. But it doesn’t stop the swirling of the thoughts in his brain, especially when it’s so keyed up after a nightmare. It would be mortifying for any seventeen-year-old, but Peter is a superhero. He should be stronger than this. He should be stronger than having nightmares about a college acceptance letter.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark cuts through Peter’s ruminating. His voice is electronic and strange, staticky to Peter’s ears over the speaker, not unlike when he’s speaking through the Iron Man mask and Peter isn’t in his suit. “You with us, kiddo?”

“Y-yeah, Mr. Stark,” Peter sighs and pulls his arm off his face, as if Mr. Stark were there to demand he look at him. “I’m alright.”

“What was it this time?” The question is not as testy as his words sound; Mr. Stark knows Peter has all manner of nightmares: his parents, his uncle, buildings collapsing, the Staten Island Ferry, shadowy spaces where no one will answer him, May dying, Mr. Stark dying, his friends dying...every one of Peter’s anxieties has made an appearance.

Once after a particularly bad nightmare, when Peter had actually made himself sick crying, Mr. Stark had given him his list. It made him feel both better and worse, knowing Iron Man had as many, if not more, triggers as he did.

“I-I don’t remember,” Peter lies, exhaling hard. Pepper is still at the end of the bed, gently rubbing his foot. “It was a lot of things, but--but I don’t remember what exactly. S-sorry.”

“No need to be sorry, kiddo. Do you want me to fly back?”

“No!” Peter jumps up, as if Mr. Stark were there and not across the world talking to him over the phone. Pepper jumps slightly. “No, it’s fine. You’ll be back in a few days. It was just a stupid nightmare.”

“It’s not stupid if it bothers you, Peter,” Pepper shifts closer on the mattress and reaches out for his shoulder.

“She’s right, bud.”

“I know,” Peter runs his hand through his hair, the first prickles of exasperation spreading through the base of his neck. Not at them, not even really at himself, but at the situation. “But it’s alright, Mr. Stark. I’ll be ok, and I’d hate to take you away from the important meetings you were so excited about.” He was most definitely not excited about them when he found out he had to go.

“Yeah, I know you’re trying to deflect. But if you’re sure, Peter…”

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter wipes the lingering sweat off his forehead.

“Alright. I’ll be back Saturday.”

“I know.”

“Ok. Try and get some more shut-eye before school. Call if you need anything.”

“I will.”

“‘Night kiddo.”

“‘Night, Mr. Stark.”

“‘Night, Pep. I’ll call you in a few hours. Kiss Baby Girl for me.”

“I will, babe,” Pepper smiles serenely and rubs her belly. “Enjoy those meetings.”

“Not likely.” And with that, the line clicks dead. The anxiety in Peter’s belly, that had been slowing dissipating while Mr. Stark was on the phone, ratchets up again.

Pepper must notice Peter start to tense, because she rubs his shoulder gently. “Do you want me to call your aunt, sweetheart?”

“No,” Peter shakes his head, cracking his knuckles. “Her shift isn’t over until six-thirty.” May is now the Nursing Administrator of the emergency room; it’s significantly more money, but she’s also required to cover if any of her staff call off. She loves it though, and Peter doesn’t want to bother her. Not over this.

“Alright,” Pepper stops rubbing his shoulder and pats his knee. “Do you need anything to drink?”

“No. Thanks, Pepper.”

“Alright, then. Lie back down, try and get some sleep.”

Peter does what she says, too drained to put up a fight. The nightmares _had_ gotten better, for awhile anyway. They’d settled back into the real world and Peter’s brain had settled into itself, mostly. He’d gone almost two months without waking up or having someone alerted about his heart rate.

Streak ended, apparently.

“Go to sleep, honey,” Pepper says as she leans over to kiss the top of his head. Peter has buried himself in the linens and comforter, eyes barely peeking above the the edge. “If you need anything, come get me, ok?”

“I will. Thanks, Pepper.”

“Anytime, Peter. Good night.”

The light in the room goes out as Pepper heads to the door, and with a click she’s gone. Peter buries himself deeper, pulling the thick comforter over his head. The letter should be here sometime this month or early next. It makes him sick to think about.

******

“Mail’s here, baby.”

May walks into the kitchen, throwing her shoulder bag on the kitchen island and tossing a pile of envelopes next to it. This is the first night in almost two weeks they’ll be able to have dinner together; adenovirus is going through the city, and she’s had enough call offs of her staff in the ER that she’s been covering more evening shifts than not.

“Oh?” Peter looks up from his Advanced Biochemistry notes, his stomach churning. The letter should be coming in soon. “Anything in there?”

“Well,” May starts flipping through the pile of envelopes. “Bill, bill, ooooh, coupons, bill...here we go, Columbia.”

She tosses the thick envelope at Peter; it lands on the table in front of him. It’s not the one he’s been dreading. Ned received his Columbia letter yesterday, so both Peter and MJ were expecting theirs within the week.

“Ned got his acceptance yesterday.”

“Well, open it, Peter,” May smiles as if she knows exactly what it will say. Peter knows she’s probably not wrong, especially considering how thick the packet it. Peter applied to four schools, New York University, Columbia, and of course, MIT. All three of them applied to the same places, a pact they’d made after the Avengers righted everything and MJ and Peter came back to Ned. Of course neither of them remembered what happened, but Peter had filled them in, on the most basic of facts. Peter had also applied to the City University of New York, knowing that the other three were exceedingly expensive, and that CUNY was more in his and May’s price range. He’d received that acceptance three weeks earlier.

He remembers going to Mr. Stark, embarrassed and worried about asking for letters of recommendation, a month after they came back to New York and two weeks into the school year.

 _“Why are you dancing around outside my office, kid?” Mr. Stark called from inside the room, off the large, open living space of the penthouse. It’s different from his office in the lab, strictly Stark Industries and government business. Peter doesn’t hang out in that office, not like he does in the lab, unless Mr. Stark is with him. Too many government secrets_ , _and too much for a kid to be worried with, he’d told him when Peter asked._

_“Oh...um, I-I’m not…” Peter stepped into the doorway, eyes trained on his feet._

_“Yes, you are,” Mr. Stark spun around in his high backed chair, behind the large mahogany desk. The whole room was frankly ridiculous, which Mr. Stark admitted to Peter the first time he was in there, not long after he’d turned down his offer to join the Avengers. “What’s up? What did you break now? Or did Fred break it this time?”_

_“Ned,” Peter corrected without thinking. “And nothing is broken.”_

_“Ok, then spill, kiddo. Not that I don’t appreciate the distraction, but all your bouncing back and forth is making me itch.” Mr. Stark’s eyebrow was raised, in his typical ‘I-know-you-want-something-but-are-afraid-to-ask’ way._

_“Well, it’s time to start to-to applying to colleges, and-and I was wondering if you’d, I mean, you don’t have to, but I figured I’d ask, even--”_

_“Peter,” Mr. Stark’s face fell into a warm smile, not unlike the one he had before he’d pulled Peter off the dusty, red ground millions of light years away from earth. He clicked something on his desktop and hologram files appeared in the air around the room. “I wrote them ages ago. They just need to be addressed. Where are you applying?”_

_The weight on Peter’s shoulders immediately lifted. “Well, um, NYU, and Columbia, and CUNY--”_

_“And MIT?” Mr Stark flipped through the images, eyeing the wording in each._

_“Yeah,” Peter shrugged, stepping further into the office, right through one of the holograms. “It’ll probably be CUNY, though, unless I get a scholarship or really good financial aid, they’re all so expensive…”_

_“Oh, don’t you worry about that, that’s for me to worry about,” Mr. Stark waved his hand dismissively, pulling up a keyboard._

_“Mr. Stark--”_

_“Is there anything specific you want in these?” Mr. Stark looked up at him directly, effectively silencing Peter’s protests before he can even make them. Peter knows that look._ Stop talking _._

 _“Um, I haven’t really thought about it, I haven’t really started filling anything out…” Specific? Mr. Stark was asking him if_ he _wanted anything specific in his letters of recommendation?_

_“Well, I figured I’d leave Spider-man out, but if you think of anything,” Mr. Stark clapped his hands, and the holograms all folded into nothing. “Just tell me. I’ll sign and mail them as soon as you say the word.”_

_“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter smiled, watching as he slowly stood up from his desk, shaking out his left arm and cracking his knee. “I really appreciate it.”_

_“Always, kiddo,” Mr. Stark smoothed the front of his vest, hooking his thumbs into the pockets as he walked behind Peter. He purposely bumped his shoulder into Peter’s as he walked by. “Now why are you worried about this on a Friday night?”_

_Peter followed him out of the office and into the great room. “Well, I just started this week, so it’s not so much that I’m worried about it on a Friday night, it’s just the first night since I’ve started that I’ve seen you, and I didn’t want to ask Happy to ask you, because that’s weird and kind of disrespectful, and I suppose I could have called you, but--”_

_“Kid,” Mr. Stark turned around when they reach the stairway down to the real living room and main hallways, the ones they all actually use when there’s nobody else around and no Avengers or dignitaries to entertain. “Relax. Like I said, they’ve been written forever. Now,” he reached out to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Go put your PJs on. No work this Friday night, I need a break. Mac and cheese in front of the tv.”_

_“Can we put hot dogs in it?”_

_“Obviously,” Mr. Stark rolled his eyes, and continued down the stairs. Finding out Mr. Stark liked macaroni and cheese and cut-up hot dogs with ketchup was probably the greatest day of Peter’s life. “And remember to put socks on. Your cold feet hurt.”_

Peter swallows and looks at the envelope. He hadn’t read the letters, trusting Mr. Stark not to go behind his back and tell the application boards to throw Peter’s away.

“Well, open it, sweetheart,” May turns to the fridge and pulls out a lasagna she’d made the weekend before. “Read it,” she requests, clearly not a worry in sight that it would be anything but good news.

“Alright,” Peter takes a deep breath and rips open the envelope, pulling out a pile of paper.

“‘Dear Mr. Parker, it is with great pleasure that we’d like to accept you--”

“Oh!” May throws the heavy pan on the counter and spins around. “Congratulations, baby! Two for two so far!” She comes over to where Peter is sitting at the table and throws her arms around his shoulders, squeezing tightly.

“Thanks, May,” Peter leans into her hug. _Two for two so far_.

“Text Tony, sweetie. He’s more anxious for these than I am.”

“Yeah…” Peter cringes when she turns back to her lasagna.

******

Peter can hear them talking, through his bedroom walls and across the hall. He’s back in the Tower, May working the weekend as flu season hits its stride. He could stay in the apartment, but he likes the company and Pepper likes having an extra set of eyes to make sure Tony doesn’t get too crazy with a suit, which he’d promised were for recreational purposes only going forward. Anything beyond helping Peter in the City is now off-limits, especially since Pepper can’t fit in her own suit anymore. Plus, he doesn’t have to make his own dinner.

Peter had collapsed into bed an hour earlier, warm from the exertion of patrolling and a hot shower and cup of chamomile tea from Pepper. He’s falling asleep more easily but still waking up; not quite as panicked as the nightmare from a month ago, but still enough that his stomach roils and he has trouble falling back asleep. The fourth letter--from MIT--still hasn’t come.

“Has the letter come yet?” Pepper says, from their bedroom. They always wait until they think Peter is asleep before talking about him, knowing he can hear pretty much anything that goes on in the Tower.

“Not yet,” he hears Mr. Stark sigh, and the creak of the bed as someone sits.

“It needs to hurry. Poor thing is going crazy.”

“I know,” Peter hears a clink as something is tossed on a dresser top. “I’m kinda of dreading…”

“What? Why? Do you think he won’t get in?”

“Oh, no,” Mr. Stark scoffs as a faucet turns on. “He’s a shoe-in. It’s just--” he pauses. “FRI, is Peter asleep?”

“No, Boss.” FRIDAY speaks only in their bedroom, but of course Peter can hear her as clear as if she was speaking in his. “Peter’s heart rate and breathing pattern indicate he is still awake.”

“Peter, go to sleep!” Mr. Stark calls through the walls and pounds on the drywall as if he were scaring a racoon, knowing very well he can hear him. He can also hear Pepper giggle. “I expect your ass in the lab at eight o’clock sharp to fix the web shooter _you_ broke, and I don’t care how tired you are!”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I’m sleeping!” Peter calls, not quite sure if they can hear him in turn. He rolls over and pulls the covers up to his ears, as if it will block out the sound of their voices. At least Mr. Stark believes in him, although he’s not sure if that makes him feel better or worse. The only thing he hears until he drifts off to sleep is the television set in their room.

****

Peter stares at the envelope, sitting in the middle of his work table, in his little corner, in Mr. Stark’s lab. He’d been checking the mail as soon as he gets home from school and pulled it out before May got home, which won’t be until after nine o’clock. And there it was, finally, the envelope adorned with Massachusetts Institute of Technology, gray and maroon across the white paper.

He isn’t even sure why he’s in the lab; Mr. Stark is upstate, his monthly check in with the team he claims can barely feed themselves, and won’t be back until the next morning at least. But it’s Friday evening, and MJ has visitation with her mother and Ned is on a weekend trip to visit family in Buffalo, so it’s not like he has anywhere else to be. Both Mr. Stark and Pepper assured him ages ago he has free reign whenever he wants, and Pepper will be back from the offices in a few hours anyway, so at least he’ll have some company.

And he doesn’t want to open the letter. Columbia, NYU, CUNY, they’d all come one by one, with congratulatory messages and information on how to go about accepting. But this was the one he was waiting for, the alma mater of his mentor and hero, who after three (seven) years had so much faith in him it almost hurts. This is the one he’s least sure but cares most about.

“Pete?” The lab lights up significantly, pulling Peter from his ruminations. “Why are you sitting in the dark, kiddo?

“Mr. Stark?” Peter swivels around in his chair, a smaller model of Mr. Stark’s that had sent him into hysterics when Peter first sat in it, awed he’d been given his own space in Tony Stark’s personal lab. “You’re back?”

“Yeah, they’re a bunch of animals,” Mr. Stark tosses a leather jacket on his own workstation. “And I don’t like leaving Pepper for long. But don’t tell her I said that.”

“I won’t, Mr. Stark. Unless she asks. She’s scary.”

“That she is,” Mr. Stark smiles, the dreamy look Peter has seen more often since their wedding crossing his face. He thinks it’s sweet. “But what are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I can--” Peter goes to stand up, but he steps over to his desk, placing a hand on his shoulder and holding him down in the chair.

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I mean why are you sitting alone in the dark like Roderick Usher?”

“Who?”

“From the Fall of the House of--you know what, never mind,” Mr. Stark looks over Peter’s shoulder and sees the envelope. “Ah. Here at last, I see.”

“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard. He wasn’t quite ready for Mr. Stark to know he’d gotten the letter, and he certainly hadn’t wanted to open it in front of him.

“Well,” Mr. Stark pulls a small metal stool over to Peter’s chair and sits down, tugging at the laces of one of his boots. “Have at it, kid.”

Peter looks at the letter, then back at Mr. Stark. “Um...we don’t have to do it now. I can wait.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve been worried about this for months.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Yes, you have,” Mr. Stark scoffs. “Don’t forget, I see and hear all. It’s finally here. Open it.”

Peter looks back at the envelope. “I don’t want to.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to? You applied.”

“I know I applied. And I thought…” Peter stops, unsure how to explain this. How do you explain a fear of disappointing someone to a person like Tony Stark? Someone who’s never had to worry about something like that? “...I thought it was a good idea, but, what if it wasn’t?” He looks back at him.

“Jesus, kid,” Mr. Stark’s eyes turn soft. “If you don’t want to go to MIT, that’s fine. You don’t have to go there just because I said I wanted you to. My father _made_ me go there and I hated him for it. It’s your decision, you can--”

“No, that’s not it,” Peter turns to look at an invisible spot on his desktop. “I mean, what if it wasn’t a good idea to apply? What if--”

“What if you didn’t get in?” Mr. Stark states incredulously, as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said.

“Yeah,” Peter sighs, feeling pathetic.

“Kiddo, look at me.” Peter does, as Mr. Stark leans back--as best he can--on his short stool and shoves his hands in his jeans pockets. His now-you-better-listen-good-kid posture. “I wouldn’t have written you that letter if I didn’t think you’d get in. I meant every word, but frankly, it was a formality. They all were. There’s no way you’re not getting in.”

“You don’t know that, Mr. Stark.”

“Yes, I do,” he says, as if it’s the truest statement he’s ever said. “You’re the smartest, most honorable person I know, and you’re only seventeen. You got in.”

“I thought you said once technically I was twenty-one.”

“See? Four extra years of character,” Mr. Stark hauls himself off the stool with a low groan, and slings an arm around Peter’s shoulders. “Bud, I’m worried about a lot of things but you not being accepted isn’t one of them.” He tugs Peter in closer; he leans his head on Mr. Stark’s stomach and looks back at the envelope on the desk. “Now, we can wait if you want to, or we can pull this band-aid off fast and have a good, restful night.”

“But what if I don’t get in?”

“You are going to get in,” Mr. Stark says sternly, then drops into a crouch in front of him. “And if you don’t, truly honestly, it doesn’t matter.” He lifts his hands to cup Peter’s face, to make sure he keeps looking at him. “It’s their loss.. And if you decide to go to one of the other schools, that’s ok, too. I’ll get to keep you in the city. Whatever happens is fine, Peter.”

“But you want me to go to MIT, Mr. Stark. Like you.” Peter knows he sounds childish and cringes a bit, his face still in Mr. Stark’s calloused hands.

“NO. I want you to be happy and safe and enriched, wherever you are. MIT isn’t necessary for that.”

“‘Enriched?’ Like an octopus at the aquarium?” Peter snorts.

“Exactly like an octopus at an aquarium,” Mr. Stark pats the side of his face, then moves his hands to his shoulders.

“I just don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You won’t. Not only have you already gotten into some of the best schools in the country, but even if you didn’t, you are not a disappointment.”

“It’s just, you’re you, you know, and…”

“And I’ve spent my entire life living up to unrealistic expectations. All I expect of you is to be a kid, and go where that takes you. Just don’t kill anyone until you’re twenty-five. That’s all you gotta do. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Good. Now, I’m going to stand up now, because this hurts.”

“Because you’re old,” Peter helps Mr. Stark stand up straight, following him. He’s grown in the past few months, and is almost as tall as he is now. Not that Mr. Stark will admit it.

“You will be eventually too, and then I’m going to laugh from my motor scooter.”

“I already told you, I’m not going to plug it in at night.”

“Yeah, yeah, smartass. Get your letter. Let’s do this shit.”

Peter grabs the envelope off the desk, flipping it over in his hands. It _is_ a fairly thick packet. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“You got this, kiddo,” Mr. Stark’s hand finds its way to his shoulder.

“Alright, here goes,” Peter tamps down on the butterflies in his stomach and quickly rips the envelope open, probably a bit more carelessly than he should. He avoids looking at it for a second, and just as he’s about to, the letter is ripped from his hand, the rest of the envelope and its contents falling to the floor.

“‘Dear Mr. Parker,’” Mr. Stark reads, stepping away from Peter. “‘It is our pleasure to congratulate you on your acceptance--’”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter lunges at him.

“Hey! I’m reading!” Mr. Stark pushes him away, holding the letter up. Peter could easily get it, but Mr. Stark is grinning as widely as Peter has ever seen, so he lets him hold him off as he reads, hand smushed against Peter’s face.

“‘--your acceptance to the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Enclosed is your …’ blah blah blah,” Mr. Stark moves his hand from Peter’s face and wraps it around his neck, pulling him close. “I told you,” he says softly, pulling Peter’s head down so he can press a quick kiss to his hair.

“Yeah,” Peter says, tucking his head under Mr. Stark’s chin--he has to bend over now to do it--and taking the letter from his hand. He reads it, and sure enough, Mr. Stark was right. He’s always right.

“Now,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulder, then turns to look at the floor behind them. “Where’s the rest of that shit? I think it’s important.”

*****

“You know, I was dreading that letter, too,” Mr. Stark shovels a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.

“Wait, so all that confidence was a lie? You lied to me?” They’re back up in the living room on the couch, giant screen playing Return of the King. Pepper stuffed them full of spaghetti earlier--she’s been on an Italian kick the past month, blaming the baby with Tony’s genes for it--and went to bed, but not before squeezing Peter tightly and whispering “I knew you’d done it” in his ear.

They’d called May, who squealed and screamed and had her entire department--and some of the more stable emergency patients, hidden behind privacy curtains--yell “congratulations” over FaceTime. When they’d told Happy his only response was “I’m not moving to Cambridge,” before winking at Peter and stomping out of the penthouse.

“NO, it wasn’t. I knew you’d get in. But there was a teeny, tiny part of me that was afraid of it.”

“Why?!” Peter is suddenly filled with dread. He’d be known as the kid Tony Stark wrote a letter for, and the world has certainly seen them together by now (May and Mr. Stark don’t know it, but he’s certainly seen the more salacious tabloid stories). They’d be big shoes to fill, and if Mr. Stark has some dread…

“Relax, Peter,” he pats his knee, apparently reading his mind. “You’re gonna be great. But you’re also going to be far away…”

“Oh,” Peter relaxes into the couch. He hadn’t thought of that. Or of how May would feel. Or what Queens would do without Spider-man. “Well, you know, I haven’t decided yet…” he starts slowly, unsure how to respond.

“Don’t you start,” Mr. Stark shovels his last spoonful of ice cream in his mouth and sets the bowl on the table. “Baby birds aren’t supposed to worry about that when they leave the nest.”

“Still not a baby. Besides, you have a real baby coming soon.”

“Yep,” Mr. Stark leans back into the couch, and Peter leans into his shoulder. On the screen, King Theoden is mustering the Rohirrim. “And you need to let me know as soon as you decide, so I can find another intern to help me keep track of her if I need to.”

“You’ll never find another intern like me.”

“No, I won’t,” Mr. Stark leans his head on Peter’s. “Congratulations, kid.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark suddenly flicks his hand, and a hologram image pops up in front of Peter. Mr. Stark pointedly continues to stare at the screen while Peter reads.

_Dear Admissions Committee,_

_It is with great pleasure that I write this letter of recommendation for the truly exceptional Peter Parker. It is rare to meet an individual with as much compassion, intelligence, and ingenuity as Peter. His resilience, positivity, and drive for excellence are especially astounding given the challenges he has overcome in his life, including losing both parents at a young age, and the uncle who raised him when he was not much older. Peter’s strength of character has allowed him to succeed despite these hardships, and he has served as both an education and inspiration to those lucky enough to be in his life, including myself. Peter has an intelligence and maturity well beyond his seventeen years._

_I have known Peter for just over three years, and it has been an honor to encourage and watch his growth as a student and Intern at Stark Industries. Peter won a prestigious and exclusive opportunity to work with SI when he was fourteen years old, and within two months his genius and dedication had earned him a position as my personal Intern, a position that was created specifically for Peter and that I will be hard-pressed to find another individual to fill. He has been indispensable in helping me design and perfect both SI and personal technology, and I can say without hyperbole that many lives have been saved due to his inventiveness and dedication. Peter does all this while maintaining a perfect 4.0 GPA at Midtown School of Science and Technology and participating as second-Captain in the school’s nationally-recognized academic Decathlon team._

_I'm truly amazed with all that Peter has accomplished, and I feel that he is one of the most determined, caring, and balanced individuals I have ever had the good fortune of working with. His enthusiasm is contagious when you work with him, and his brilliance and persistence drives those working with him to new levels of greatness. I was honored when Peter asked me to provide a letter of recommendation, although I do it with some concern that I will not be able to provide Peter with the recognition he deserves in only a letter._

_Peter has my highest recommendation, and I know he will thrive at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. I also know MIT will reap substantial benefits from a student like Peter. I know that if accepted, he will continually impress you with his exceptional intelligence, his commitment, and his unshakeable resilience. I am excited to see how far his educational and professional journey will take him in the future, and I look forward to offering him a permanent position at Stark Industries when he has completed his education. Please call me if you have any questions._

_Sincerely,_

__

_Tony Stark_

 

 

__


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So now here they are, May folding socks on the extra-long twin bed and Mr. Stark trying to find an outlet for a mini-fridge, while Happy charters Pepper and Morgan around Cambridge looking for a park with a baby-swing. Peter can still hear the whispers down the hall; one woman even had the nerve to poke her head in the room for a second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freshman move-in day.

Peter turns around to watch Mr. Stark stumble through the door, awkwardly lugging a mini-fridge in his arms. He can hear the chatter down the hallway, whispers bouncing off gray-painted cinder block walls. Awed, _“ohmygod is that Tony Stark”_ and _“it’s Iron Man!”_ and _“Iron Man is getting old...what’s he doing here?.”_ Mr. Stark drops the fridge in the middle of the rough carpet, catching the eye of a mother walking by in the hallway, who lets out a little shriek when he winks.

Peter rolls his eyes and turns back to the twin bed in the corner, where May is sitting and rolling his socks. “May, you don’t need to roll my socks. I can do it later.”

“I--I just--” she stops mid-roll and looks up at him, eyes growing wet behind her large wire glasses. “Baby, I always--”

“Jesus, kid, let her roll your socks…” Mr. Stark coughs under his breath behind him.

“Um…” Peter looks back at May, how has resolutely gone back to mashing his socks together, perhaps a bit too roughly, trying not to obviously sniff. “Thank you for rolling my socks, May.”

“Of course, baby,” May’s voice wavers a bit. “I expect you to do it as soon as they cool off from the dryer.”

“I will, May.”

“This is all the space you get?” Mr. Stark suddenly barks behind him, effectively drawing everyone out of the sad moment that was beginning to settle. “After all the money I gave them?”

“Ok, firstly,” Peter turns to look at Mr. Stark, who has his hands shoved in his jean pockets and is spinning around the small space, “this is the size of a single room. B, it’s the same size as my room in Queens. And three, you said you didn’t give anyone money to get this?”

“Relax, kiddo,” Mr. Stark dismisses him with a wave. “It’s going to outfit a physics lab.”

“I don’t care what it’s going to, Mr. Stark! I didn’t want you buying me a room!”

“Peter,” he turns, pulling his sunglasses off to give him his best stop-right-now-dad-stare. He’s gotten pretty amazing at it over the years, and Peter can actually feel his shoulders drop in retreat. “We discussed this. You want to keep the suit while you’re here? You get your own cinder-block cell. You’re a freshman. I had to grease some wheels.”

“But it’s not fair to the other freshman, Mr. Stark.”

“Half the other freshman had their parents try to do the same thing, only they failed. And the _other_ half are just happy to be here. I know it doesn’t seem fair, and it’s not, but your identity is paramount. Take this one, Pete.”

“Mr. Stark…”

“And not everyone gets a Rhodey, bud. Besides, you’re the only kid with his own bathroom--” Mr. Stark gestures to the narrow door in the corner behind him and makes a face (it’s not much of the bathroom, just a toilet and a shower stall, even the sink is still in the room proper), “--so in about two and a half hours you’re going to have more friends than all the other freshman put together.”

“I’m not letting people use my bathroom, Mr. Stark.” Peter wrinkles his nose. No. No no no. That bathroom is _his_.

“That’s the spirit, Peter,” Mr. Stark claps his hands together loudly. “Enjoy your space! In fact, if Fred and Michelle ever come to visit, make them use the bathrooms down the hall.”

“Ned,” Peter corrects him on autopilot. He looks over at the small bathroom. “They can use my bathroom.”

Neither Ned or MJ ended up at MIT with Peter; Ned is at Columbia on scholarship, and MJ is at NYU. They’d all applied to the same schools, and were all three lucky enough to get in at each, but their hearts and goals were in different places. Peter is jealous of them both; he may have had Iron Man to buy him his own bathroom, but they were both in the same city, a thirty-minute-walk from each other in Manhattan. And Peter was in another state. Massachusetts. A four hour drive away. For a brief period after receiving all his acceptance letters, Peter had honestly considered staying in the city, with friends and May and Mr. Stark. He was afraid of being lonely, of being away from his family and what he’d miss--Morgan is only a few months old.

And he was afraid of what would happen to his borough. Over the years Queens had come to depend on Spider-man; children waited on street corners hoping to see him and young women walked a bit more confidently, knowing he was there to watch over them. When he’d expressed his fears to Mr. Stark, he’d promised to keep an eye on things. He’d also asked if Peter had only applied to MIT because he wanted him to go there, and assured him that so long as he ended up teaching there eventually, he didn’t care where Peter went. But his most important assurances were that he’d make sure the city was safe--not him personally, Pepper still had a moratorium on any extracurricular activities that weren’t purely extracurricular--and that Peter wouldn’t miss a thing. Not Karen, not a live-feed of Morgan’s first steps or first word, not his friends who Mr. Stark was more than happy to charter visits for.

So now here they are, May folding socks on the extra-long twin bed and Mr. Stark trying to find an outlet for a mini-fridge, while Happy charters Pepper and Morgan around Cambridge looking for a park with a baby-swing. Peter can still hear the whispers down the hall; one woman even had the nerve to poke her head in the room for a second.

“Now I’m going to be the ‘kid who knows Tony Stark.’”

“Worse things to be known as, _kid,_ ” Mr. Stark grunts as he straightens after plugging in the small fridge. Some of the injuries he acquired in Sanctuary will never fully heal, and his knee will never be the same after the thwarted mugging. “Enjoy it.”

“It’s weird. Especially since they’ll know I have the only freshman single.”

“Trust me, Pete,” Mr. Stark slaps a hand on his shoulder; for a brief moment Peter is transported back to his bedroom in Queens, Mr. Stark asking him if he’d ever been to Germany. “They’ll think about it for the next five minutes, then they’re going to have their own problems to deal with. Besides, you deserve something for yourself. Right, May?”

“Hmmm?” May jumps a bit on the bed and looks up, sniffing suspiciously as she twists a pair of socks in her hands. “Yes, Peter. You deserve something for yourself.”

“Now,” Mr. Stark walks over to the heavy door and takes a quick peek down each side of the hall before pulling back inside the small room and shutting the heavy door. He reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a small, shiny black rectangle, about the size of Peter’s old Stark Phone. May looks up at the crinkling sound as Mr. Stark pulls some plastic off the back; Peter recognizes the trademarked adhesive that comes with all Stark Home products. He shoots May a wink and walks over to Peter. “Get up on the wall and stick this in the corner.”

“What is it, Mr. Stark?” Peter takes the small black box and easily hops onto the wall, crawling over to the corner above the bed. May looks up and twitches slightly; even after three years, she’s still not used to what her nephew can do, and the ease with which he can do it.

“Karen,” Mr. Stark states blandly, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

“What?!” Peter nearly drops the technology, and nearly falls off the wall. He catches himself quickly with his feet, stepping onto the ceiling and hanging nearly face to face with May, who has jumped to attention in the event she needs to catch her super-powered nephew, which of course she doesn’t. Peter protectively cradles the sleek, black rectangle to his chest. “I can have Karen? Not in the suit?”

“Yes,” Mr. Stark nods. “She’s been coded to only answer to you, or me, or May. Or Ned and MJ, if they come.” He waves a hand, as if it were an afterthought. “If anyone asks, she’s an alarm clock you designed at your internship. And if anyone finds out--” Mr. Stark’s face turns stern. “I’m taking her right back.”

“Yessir,” Peter nods, his hair falling haphazardly in his upside-down position. Karen. He’s going to have Karen! Just like his room at the tower.

“She’ll need to resync to your watch, and the other suit. It should be finished tonight. I won’t look at any data unless I need to. Just like your suit.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark! Thank you so, so much, I promise I won’t do anything--”

“Peter!” May springs up from the bed suddenly, smoothing out her pants. “Please just hang that thing and get down! You know it makes me nervous when you do that, I will never get used to you jumping and swinging and crawling all over things like Regan--”

“Sorry, Aunt May!” Peter reaches back up to the ceiling, chastened. May is obviously anxious, and on today of all days, he doesn’t want to inadvertently make it worse. He’s already expending enough effort on tamping down the sick feeling in his stomach, and if she loses it, he will as well. He presses the adhesive to the gray-painted cinder blocks, tugging lightly to make sure it’s secure. Of course it is, the adhesive Stark tech uses is all but infallible. “There.” Peter lightly drops from the ceiling to the floor, and May’s arm is instantly around his shoulders.

“Karen?” Mr. Stark calls smoothly, one eyebrow raised at May. Peter knows it’s an act, and that he hates watching Peter dangle head-first as well.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” Karen’s smooth voice fills the small room.

“Welcome to your new digs. Why don’t you start your resync to Peter’s suits?”

“Of course, Mr. Stark. Peter, like always, if you need anything, just ask.”

“Thanks, Karen,” Peter smiles, the nerves in his stomach settling just a bit. At least he’ll have a familiar voice with him, if he can’t have anyone else.

“Alright, baby,” May squeezes his shoulders. “I can practically hear your stomach rumbling. Why don’t we get something to eat, then we can get some food for that sad little fridge.”

“We all had sad, little fridges, Aunt May,” Mr. Stark pulls his glasses out of the inside of his coat. “Let me call Rhodey. He’s in town and said he wanted to meet us whenever we stopped to eat.”

Peter has a feeling he isn’t just “in town,” and it makes his chest warm a bit.

*****

An hour and a half later they are bunched in a corner booth in a greasy diner that Mr. Rhodes swears up and down has the best burgers in Cambridge. Peter is squished between May and Mr. Stark, and Morgan is perched in his lap, one chubby hand banging a spoon on the gingham tablecloth. It looks as if Pepper is trying to distract May, who began to tear up on the ride over to the diner. Peter knows the second his aunt loses it, he will as well. Happy is perched on the very end of the booth, eyeing everyone in the restaurant with suspicion.

“Now, Peter,” Mr. Rhodes points his shake-covered straw across the table. “I expect you to call me as soon as you get sick!”

“Get sick?” Peter tightens his grip on Morgan as she twists on his lap; Mr. Stark is watching his daughter, amused, and continuously replacing the silverware Peter pulls out of her hands with something new to bang on the table.

“Everyone gets sick, kid,” Mr. Rhodes laughs and sticks his straw back in his shake. “No bedtimes, change in diet, sudden freedom? The immune system is the first thing to give in. And I expect notification!”

“Yessir,” Peter smiles, bouncing Morgan on his knee. She squeals and tosses her spoon to the floor; Mr. Stark has another ready to go.

“Give her over to Pep, kiddo,” he states once the new spoon is safely in Morgan’s tiny hand. “Got something for you.” With that, Happy, who so far has been acting if he was the service detail for a goddamn president, smirks and pulls a long, flat box out from under the table.

“Before the food comes,” everyone shifts so he can reach over and place it in front of Peter.

“What’s this?” Peter hands Morgan over to May, who presses a kiss to each of the baby’s cheeks before handing her over to Pepper.

“Just some shit from those animals back at the compound,” Happy grunts as he plops back down into the seat.

“Yes, and thank you for helping to spread the joy, Hap.”

“I’m tired of dragging this kid’s shit everywhere,” but he winks at Peter as he smooths out the front of his jacket. Peter is going to miss Happy, and he’s pretty sure Happy is going to miss him. He may complain about it to anyone who will listen, but Peter knows Happy is someone he’ll always be able to depend on, even for the smallest thing. He knows Happy would make the drive to Cambridge if all he needed was a ride to dinner.

“Tony,” May speaks up. “There’s nothing in there that’ll start on fire or blow up or anything, is there? The dorms don’t even allow plug-in air fresheners.”

“No idea, May. Where’d the fun be in that?” Mr. Stark reaches over and pops the latch on the box, lifting the lid. “From your team. Have at it, kid.”

Peter’s stomach flips like it did the first time he met his heroes, back when he was in a haze after being trapped in emptiness for four years. He’d grown out of the nervousness and butterflies soon enough, but seeing something like this, a box filled with gifts from the extraordinary men and women who’d taken him as one of their own and become his family, makes the butterflies return.

“Please don’t make a scene,” Mr. Stark reaches in an pulls out the first package, wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with twine. “We’ll all get indigestion.”

“Tony,” May chastises across the table. “Open it, baby.”

Peter gently unties the string and unwraps package. Inside are a pair of simple, waterproof flip-flops and a note.

_Stark said you’re going to get your own shower, but trust me, wear these every day. And wash them twice a day. It took me almost a year to get rid of the infection. Bug buddies for life._

Peter wrinkles his nose. “This is nice, but...eeeuw.”

“Scott’s not wrong, sweetheart. I remember working at the college clinic in Nursing school, you wouldn’t believe the foot rot we used to see from the kids in the dorms!”

“Can I even get foot fungus?”

“I wouldn’t risk it, kiddo,” Mr. Stark takes the flips flops from him. “And as lovely as this is, we have food coming. Next!”

Peter works through the box in short order, each gift making his eyes burn and his heart miss his family even more. There’s a small cactus from Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes, with a note from Mr. Rogers that it’s the same kind as one he received from Mr. Barnes the Christmas before he shipped out, and a note from Mr. Barnes that it’s the plant Peter is least likely to kill.

There’s a box of tissues and a jumbo box of condoms from Clint wrapped in hundred-dollar-bills; Mr. Stark makes to grab the condoms but May stops him, simply stating “safety first” and Peter wants to jump straight through the window behind their booth. They both agree on confiscating the remarkable fake I.D. from Thor and Loki, that was probably mostly from Loki. Peter managed to pocket the talisman included before either could see it, making a mental note to ask Loki before doing anything with it. He doesn’t think Loki would do anything to hurt him--like the rest of the Avengers, the god took an immediate, if a bit antagonistic, liking to Peter. He just doesn’t want to end up on the other side of the world during his first week of college.

Dr. Banner’s gifts are probably the most useful: two books from Peter’s syllabus, biochemistry and physics, both littered with sticky notes and annotations and scribbles in the margins. Mr. Rhodes gives him an old MIT sweatshirt, complete with a story that is was the one Mr. Stark cried into the first few weeks he was at school. Mr. Stark threw one of Morgan’s spoons at him.

The final gift is where Peter nearly loses his resolve. His eyes were steadily burning during each gift, but when he opens the flat, plainly wrapped gift from Natasha, they earnestly water. It’s a picture in a simple frame, the entire team in formal clothes. Peter is front and center with Mr. Stark’s arm around him, everyone’s smiles are wide and bright. He remembers the day they took it, his eighteenth birthday only two weeks earlier, when May and Pepper had planned a ridiculously expensive and opulent party and Mr. Stark had gifted him a pair of AI sunglasses that he’d promptly sat on.

“Oh, wow, baby,” May leans over Peter’s shoulder. He can hear her starting to sniff again.

“We clean up nice,” Mr. Stark takes the picture from Peter to look at it. “How come I’ve never seen this photo?”

“I dunno. Ask ‘Tasha,” Peter grabs the photo back from him, and lays it reverently on top of everything else in the box. He can feel the tears starting to leak out of the corners of his eyes. They’re all back in New York. Home.

“I’ll have to ask her for a copy,” Mr. Stark squeezes Peter’s shoulder. It grounds him, enough that he’s able to quickly blink away the tears forming. “Now put this away, the food will be here soon.”

*****

Pepper is the first to lose it, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as repeatedly presses kisses to Peter’s face, Morgan squished between them. He’s only seen her cry once, dabbing her eyes while she recited her vows.

“Now,” she leaves Morgan in Peter’s grip, wiping her cheeks. “You be good and study hard, so you can come back in two years and promptly exact a coup at SI.”

“Four years, Pepper,” Peter holds his finger out for Morgan to grab on to.

“Oh please,” she chuckles wetly. “If Tony could do it in two, so can Peter Parker.”

“Hey!” Mr. Stark grunts from where he’s sitting on the bed, squeezing his bad knee. But he’s smiling and nodding, as if her slight was gospel truth.

“Thank you, Pepper...we’ll see,” Peter blushes and looks down at the baby in his arms, for all intents and purposes, his baby sister. “And if I have to be good, that means you do too, Mo-Mo.”

Morgan squeals, dropping Peter’s finger to reach for his hair, grabbing a handful and shrieking happily.

“Morgan,” Pepper reaches out to gently untangle her fingers from Peter’s hair before she pulls a clump out--she’s done it before. “No grabbing.”

“It’s ok,” Peter presses an exaggerated kiss to her chubby cheek, not bothering to voice his thoughts on how the Starks all seem to be obsessed with his hair. “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving, Mo-Mo.” She babbles, shoving one chubby fist entirely into his mouth. “And I think it’s past your bedtime. You know I only let you stay up when your parents aren’t around.”

“Yes, a whole two months without being spoiled,” Pepper takes Morgan back from Peter, who clings briefly to his shirt sleeve.

“That’s not true,” Peter reaches out to squeeze Morgan’s tiny hand one last time. “Mr. Stark spoils her a lot more than I do.”

“That he does,” Pepper tucks her daughter’s head under her chin, and leans forward to kiss Peter’s cheek one last time. “Be safe, sweetheart. Knock their socks off.”

“I’ll try, Pepper.”

“I’m gonna take her down, or I’ll never leave. Wave bye-bye to Peter, Morgan!” Pepper waves Morgan’s hand for her and heads to the dorm room door.

“I’m right behind you,” Happy calls in her direction, sauntering over to Peter. “Don’t destroy anything, kid. And I’m not helping you move home at Christmas.”

“We all know how terrible you are at moving things, Happy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Happy squeezes the back of his neck. “Go to bed at a decent time, and I don’t want to get any drunken calls from parties.”

“I won’t, Happy.”

“Good,” Happy ruffles Peter’s hair, and for a second he thinks he sees the same wetness in Happy’s eyes that are in everyone else’s. “Let’s go, Pep, your highness,” Happy playfully bows in front of Morgan, and then before Peter can blink, they’re both gone.

“Next,” Mr. Rhodes pulls Peter in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Don’t forget. The first sniffle, I want to know about it.”

“I promise, Mr. Rhodes. But I don’t think I will.”

“I know you will!” Mr. Rhodes squeezes his biceps. “You have my number, if there’s anything you need and don’t want Tones to know about.”

“I’ll find out!”

“Shut up, Tony! Be great, Pete,” he gives his arms one last squeeze, and then he’s gone too.

Now it’s just May and Mr. Stark. The woman who raised him and the man who stepped into a role neither realized how badly they each needed him to. Pepper thanked him once, when Morgan was only a few hours old, for showing Mr. Stark that he could be a father.

“Well--” Tony goes to push himself off the bed but May interrupts him.

“No, I need to go first, or I’ll never leave. You have enough blankets that I could make a pretty comfortable bed on the floor.”

Peter smiles. “Like that time I got salmonella.”

“Yeah,” her voices breaks. “Or when you had your tonsils out.” May reaches out and brushes some hair behind Peter’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, baby. So, so proud.”

“May…”

“I know our circumstances weren’t always the best, but I was so lucky to have you, Petey-Pie.”

His first real tear of the day slips down Peter’s cheek. “You haven’t called me that since I was little.”

“You’ll always be little to me,” May finally cracks too, beginning to cry earnestly as she pulls him in for a tight hug. She pulls his head down to her shoulder and squeezes him tight.

“What if I don’t like it?” Peter whispers, clinging to his aunt. His _mother_.

“You will be perfect, baby,” May kisses his temple. “And you’re going to love it. Even if I miss the hell out of you.”

“I’m going to miss you too, May. So much.”

“Well,” she squeezes him tighter. “I’ll be back in Queens waiting for you. And I’ll be there as long as you need me.”

“Thank you, Aunt May,” Peter sniffs, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on her shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, baby,” May pulls out of the hug, and takes Peter’s face in her hands. “Take care of yourself, and don’t stay up too late, and make sure you eat at least three vegetables a day.”

“I’ll try, May.”

“You better,” she wipes the lingering wetness off Peter’s cheeks with her thumbs. “I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Ok,” May presses another kiss to Peter’s cheek. “When you unpack the rest of your clothes, fold them correctly.”

“I will, May.”

“Ok,” she pulls his head down and plants a final kiss to his forehead. “If you need me before I call tomorrow, you better call me, young man.”

“I will, May.”

“I’m stalling, you know,” May laughs sadly, wiping more tears off her cheeks. “So I’m gonna leave, because I’m already eyeing all those blankets in your closet, and that corner over there looks comfy.”

“I know, May,” Peter murmurs, part of him hoping she’ll stall longer, even if poor Mr. Stark is still sitting on the bed, trying not to look like he’s listening to every word. “But I don’t want to have to explain to the RAs why my aunt is sleeping in my corner.”

“No! You should be hiding beer in here, not your crazy old aunt,” May steps away and takes Peter’s hands. “Ok. I’m leaving. I’ll call you at six o’clock sharp tomorrow, so have your phone charged and ready.”

“I promise,” Peter squeezes her small hands. He’s going to miss them so much, miss the smell of her shampoo and the way her breathing across the hall would lull him to sleep at night after his patrols and her terrible attempts at cooking. He’s going to miss his home.

“Alright. I’m going.” May steps away from him and picks up her purse from the old, wooden desk. “Get a good night’s sleep tonight, you have orientation at eight o’clock. And wear those flip-flops Scott gave you!” She’s at the door now, wiping more tears from her eyes. “And don’t use too much laundry detergent. Or fabric softener. And I’m going to make a list for when I talk to you tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok, May.”

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you, May.”

And then she’s gone, too. Peter watches the door for a second, half expecting it to open and May to rush back in. But she doesn’t, and Peter is suddenly overcome with such a fierce homesickness he wonders for a moment if his burger--Mr. Rhodes was right, they were good--is going to end up on the floor.

“My turn, I guess,” Mr. Stark interrupts Peter’s reverie, finally pushing himself off the twin bed. “You know, she’s never going to stop worrying about you, kid,”

“Yeah. And I’m gonna worry about her.”

“She’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on her,” he walks over, limping a bit as he tries to shake the stiffness out of his bad leg. “It’s gonna be rough, not being able to keep an eye on you as much.”

“So Karen really isn’t going to spy on me?”

“Nah,” Mr. Stark scoffs, lazily waving his hand. “Not unless your vitals drop.”

“What protocol is that?”

“ _Baby Bird Has Left the Nest._ ”

“Oh my god, Mr. Stark!” Peter tries to act annoyed, but he’s too emotionally raw after the good-byes thus far and he knows Mr. Stark probably sees right through it.

“It’s to keep my blood pressure down,” Mr. Stark plays along, and Peter is grateful. “And I’m not going to stop worrying either, bud. How’re the nightmares?”

“What?”

“Nightmares, Pete. FRI hasn’t said anything in awhile, but you’ve gotten better at hiding things from me.”

“No nightmares, not really. In awhile,” Peter shrugs.

“‘Not really’ isn’t gonna cut it, kiddo.”

“More just nerves, about coming here, and school and stuff,” Peter fidgets, pulling and cracking his fingers. Usually when they have The Very Serious Discussions they’re in the lab or watching a movie.

“Which is why I’ll still be alerted if your vitals go all wonky, like always.”

“I-I’ll be alright,” Peter feels like he’s trying to convince himself. The cramped room is starting to feel extremely empty. “And Mr. Stark, you have your own kid to worry about now.”

“Yeah, and she’ll be pissed if I let anything happen to her big brother. She’s expecting you home for Thanksgiving.”

“Mo doesn’t know when Thanksgiving is,” Peter feels his eyes start to burn again and looks at the carpet. _He_ knows when Thanksgiving is, it’s almost three months away. Three months until he sees everyone again.

“It’ll be here before you know it, Pete,” Mr. Stark bends a little, trying to catch Peter’s eyes. “Promise.”

“Yeah.” Peter nudges a small tear in the carpet. Mr. Stark told him he was lucky to have a carpet; his room with Rhodey had been tile.

“I mean it, kiddo,” Mr. Stark reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll be here in October for Parents’ Weekend, then it’ll be Thanksgiving, and you probably won’t even want to come home.”

“I think I will.” Peter will. He knows he will. He very suddenly wants to go home right now.

“We’ll see. Hey,” Mr. Stark taps the bottom of his chin so he’ll look up. Peter does, even though he doesn’t want him to see how how he’s barely holding in more tears. “Bring it in, Pete.”

“Oh, are we there?” Peter tries to joke, he has to right now, but Mr. Stark just smacks the side of his head and pulls him in for a hug. He’s at least the same height as him now, maybe a hair taller, but he wishes he wasn’t. Peter wishes he was a sixteen-year-old kid who hadn’t grown into himself yet, so he could tuck his head under Mr. Stark’s chin like he used to. It always made feel safe in a way he hadn’t felt since Uncle Ben would carry him to their big bed after a nightmare. He’ll never get to have that feeling again. He’ll never feel like he fully lives in Queens with May again. Mr. Stark’s penthouse won’t be his second home anymore, it’ll be a place to visit when he’s home three times a year. He starts to cry before he can stop, more than the slow tears and sniffles when May said good-bye and went down to the car.

“Hey, hey, kiddo,” Mr. Stark runs a hand down his back..

“I’m s-sorry!”

“Hey, no sorries. You know how I feel about those.”

“I-I know,” Peter sniffs, trying to lay his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder. He’s too tall for that even, so he has settle for resting his chin there. It’s probably for the best, Mr. Stark always wears expensive jackets and Peter has ruined more than one in his time.

“You know, when my parents dumped me here, I cried for the entire first week, before Rhodey finally took pity on me.”

“You were a kid, Mr. Stark. I’m--”

“Still a kid, kid,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulders. “And you’re still May’s little boy, and you’re still my Spider-baby. And Happy will always be your nanny.”

Peter huffs a sad laugh before he can help himself. “I’m not a baby. And I don’t want to stay.”

“Yes, you are. And yes, you do. I promise you do. If I thought for a second you didn’t, we’d have been out of here hours ago.”

“If I don’t like it, can I come home?”

“Of course, Pete,” Mr. Stark squeezes him. He can feel the ridge of the arc reactor pressing against his sternum, hear the gentle whir of the nanotech that is imperceptible to anyone else. He’s going to miss that sound. “Give it two weeks, at least. If you really hate it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah. But we won’t need to. You got this, kiddo,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulders again, and Peter feels a dry, bristley kiss against the side of his face. He can’t reach the top of his head like he used to be able to. “We’re all so proud of you, Petey.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark. I don’t know what I would have done with-without you and May.”

“You’ll never have to know, kiddo,” Mr. Stark gives him one last squeeze, then pulls away and smoothly shoves a pair of sunglasses on his face. “Now,” he reaches out and wipes the tears of Peter’s face with his thumb before Peter has a chance to. He turns to point to the black box on the bed against the wall, filled with the small gifts from everyone at the compound. Save the fake ID. “Don’t forget to thank everyone.”

“I won’t. Tell them they didn’t have to give me anything, Mr. Stark…”

“I know, I told them as much already. But they wanted to, so write them some thank-you cards when you have a chance,” Mr. Stark gives him a pointed look that makes it clear he doesn’t expect Peter to do any such thing. “Now…” he spins on his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Now.”

“You should get going, Mr. Stark,” Peter smiles sadly. “I mean, before Aunt May comes back up. We’ll have to do this thing all over again and I don’t think I’d make it a second time.”

“Yeah,” Mr. Stark sniffs. “I don’t think any of us would.” He slaps a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Do I need to go through the rules again?”

“N-no, Mr. Stark. ‘Keep the suit in the football, no walking on the ceiling,’ et cetera.”

“You got it, bud. And don’t sit on Karen,” He flicks a hand up towards the corner, then lays it back on Peter’s shoulder. “And you’ll call, if you need anything?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

“I mean it, Peter,” Mr. Stark steps directly in front of him and takes ahold of his other shoulder. “Anything. If you’re not sleeping, trouble with classes, I don’t care if you just need a few extra bucks for dinner with your friends. You call.”

“I will, Mr. Stark. I promise.”

“Good,” Mr. Stark pats the side of his face, smiling sadly. “We’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Ok, Mr. Stark.”

And then he’s gone, the heavy metal door closing behind him with a click. And Peter’s alone. He turns slowly in the small room, looking at the newly stocked mini-fridge and the bed made up by May. Several boxes are pushed against the wall, next to crates waiting to be assembled and filled with books and knick-knacks. A shiver runs up his spine and he twists the black watch on his wrist. He’s never been alone, not like this. Not without knowing he’d be going back home.

“Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?” The sound from the corner of the ceiling is low, low enough that it won’t be heard through the cinder-block walls of a dorm room.

“Just checking.”

“Would you like me to call your aunt or Mr. Stark?”

“No, thank you. I’m just--yeah.”

“Do you need to talk about it? You know I’m always here to listen.” Peter smiles; it’d taken him far too long to realize that Mr. Stark programmed his AIs with particular personalities for particular reasons. It wasn’t a coincidence that FRIDAY reminded him of Pepper. Supposedly Vision’s originally programming was modelled after a butler Mr. Stark had as a child. Mr. Stark had made Karen for him, for moments like these.

“Thanks, Karen. I’m alright. How much longer until you’re fully synced?”

“Nano-watch one-hundred percent. Football sixty-seven percent.”

That’s great, Karen,” Peter slumps down on his bed. Suddenly the thought of finishing his unpacking is overwhelming, especially since he has to be up for campus orientation--MIT calls it “REX”, Residential Exploration--at 8:30 the next morning. He knows he’ll be outright bribed to switch rooms with other students there. Mr. Stark warned him.

“Would you like to watch some television? I can sync to all of Mr. Stark’s subscriptions for you to watch.”

“No, I’m--” there’s a knock on Peter’s door. It rings hollow through the room, and for a split second his heart jumps, thinking that his family had come back, that May and Mr. Stark were on the other side of the door, ready to bundle him up and bring him back to New York where he belongs. But reality sets in very quickly, and Peter realizes how ridiculous that is. Mr. Stark had specifically told him two weeks.

He trudges over to the door, hoping whoever it is hadn’t heard him talking to Karen. When he opens the door, he’s met by two people--a tall girl who towers over him, and a very muscular boy about his height, who’s wearing a Spider-man t-shirt two sizes too small. Peter carefully schools his face into the look he’s perfected for when he sees his merchandise ( _“I have merch, Mr. Stark!” “I can see that, kid.”_ ). The two look a bit older than he is, and as if this isn’t their first rodeo.

“Peter Parker?” The girl’s voice is high and friendly.

“Yes?”

“I’m Ruth, and this is Drew! We’re your RAs!”

“Oh! Um, hi!” Peter sticks his hand out and shakes theirs, careful not to squeeze too hard. Sometimes it still takes all his concentration to control his strength, especially if he's nervous or upset. Can't slip up now, in the first thirty-minutes he's here by himself.

“Have you eaten?” Drew’s voice is low and gravelly, but just as friendly as Ruth’s. “It’s part of the MIT REX events for the floor RAs to take their students for dinner the night they arrive. Introduce everyone, get to see everyone else in the wing!”

“Wow, that’s...that’s a-a lot of p-people,” Peter inhales sharply when he hears his nervous stutter come back. It’s been years. He hears Mr. Stark in this head. _Easy, Parker._

“Oh, not really,” Ruth chirps above him. There’s only fifteen students in our wing. It’ll be easy to get to know everyone!”

“We know how hard it is, meeting new people on campus,” Drew nods solemnly, his face almost too serious. Peter internally rolls his eyes at the scripted lines.

“Um, yeah, sure,” Peter tamps down the butterflies in his stomach, May and Mr. Stark’s voices goading him in the back of his head. “Just give me a minute, where are we meeting?”

“Great!” Ruth squeaks, a bit too loudly. It’s going to take a while for Peter to get used to such a high voice coming from such a big person. “Just down in the lobby, we’ll have a sign!”

“Great.”

“Awesome!” Drew gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up, and for some reason it reminds Peter of Mr. Rogers’ PSA videos.

“Ok,” Peter nods, before he can change his mind and come up with an excuse. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”

“See you!” Ruth is already on the way to the next room when Peter closes the door. He can hear them knocking, and a high-pitched _“Sara Anderson?”_ through the walls. He’s suddenly glad Mr. Stark made him bring a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

“Karen?” Peter whispers, not wanting anyone in the hall to hear him.

“Yes, Peter?”

“Will you keep syncing if I leave?” Peter asks, shoving his wallet and phone into his pocket and picking up his jacket from the old, wooden desk chair.

“Of course, Peter. I can remain active and connected to you within a radius of five-hundred miles.”

“Whoa.” Peter hadn’t known that.

“I have locked the football; only your or Mr. Stark’s fingerprints will be able to open it in the event someone enters the room.”

“Thanks, Karen.”

“Go have fun, Peter.”

*******

The bright light of a text alert through Peter’s eyelids jolts him out of sleep. The mattress is uncomfortable; a rock with metal springs that can’t hold a candle to his small bunk bed in Queens--either top or bottom--let alone his giant, cushy mattress at the Tower. Despite that, he’d fallen asleep quite quickly after they’d returned to the dorm. Everyone was exceptionally nice, and he got along quite well three other kids, one of whom was from New York and whose grandmother had been helped by Spider-man once.

Peter thinks he was dreaming, of eating hamburgers in a graduation cap with a big group of people and the old lady who bought him a churro once. It dissipates as he pushes himself up on his elbow, as all good dreams usually do. He reaches for the phone he’d left on the edge of his pillow, tucked against the concrete wall. There’s a single message on the screen.

ManInATinCan: _Just checking in, kid. Don’t answer until you’re up, unless you absolutely need to. Call you tomorrow._

Peter smiles, resisting the urge to immediately answer. He glances at Karen; the clock on her face reads 3:08. He tucks his phone under his pillow so any texts won’t wake him up again. He doesn’t need to answer, Mr. Stark told him not to until morning, and he needs to be awake in four hours. He’s meeting some kids for breakfast before orientation, including the granddaughter of Spider-man lady. He’ll text Mr. Stark before he leaves.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost word-for-word what happened when my mother dropped me off at school; I drew heavily from my experiences (except I most certainly did not have a single my first year). 
> 
>  
> 
> I got sick within the first two weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, god...applications. *barf*


End file.
